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"Doesn't matter."
"Dante—”
"Trust me on this. Trust it will be worth it." The words touch something inside me, a familiar voice or words . . . buttrust meis such an overused phrase. One I heard my father say so many times, so maybe it's flight or fight coming out?
"What?"
"Do you? Trust me."
"I barely know you."
But something about his warmth, about this electricity, it feels . . . easy. Like a thrill but also comfort. Like something new and exciting but safe.
Like home.
"You trust me," he says to himself and then moves to what I assume is his next topic. But first, his lips brush mine once more, that electricity flaring.
"You also have to know, if we do this. I don't do soft and sweet." I move my head back, looking at him and raising an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You're a princess. I bet every man you've ever been with has treated you as such." I open my mouth, ready to confess, to tell him everything about every other man before him, but— "I don't want to know. Actually, from here on out, I don't want another man's name falling from your lips in my presence unless it's you telling me because you want me to beat them to a pulp." My eyes go wide with shock, and he smiles that fucking amazing smile. "Passion, baby." His hand reaches out and flips mine over, fingers grazing where my blood is pounding beneath thin skin. "We've got it. You feel it, I know you do." My tongue pokes out, licking my lips, and he smiles.
"Passion isn't soft and sweet. Passion like this? It's volatile. It's explosive. Electric."
There's that word again.
Electric.
"Oh-okay . . . ," I say, because now I really want to get this going. That electric pulse has moved through me, now throbbing in my clit, dying for something. Anything.
"I will devour your body, make you feel things you've never felt before, but I will not be soft and sweet while I do it."
"O . . . kay?"
"Okay," he says in a whisper then presses his lips to mine again, devouring me. As he kisses me, his hand moves up, under my sweatshirt, to the bare skin of my waist. Those hands continue moving up, up until the sweatshirt is coming with it and he’s tugging it over my head. He steps back before sitting on the edge of his bed as I stand in a bra and sweats.
"I want to see you," he says. "Push those down." He tips his chin with his words, indicating the sweatpants I'm wearing, and I bite my lip, my thumbs moving to the edge of them.
Maybe I should just leave. Maybe—
"Now."
His words send a jolt through me, and I do as he asks, like my body is fully under his control. The sweats fall down, pooling at my feet, and I step out of them, leaving me in a bra and a lacy thong.
"Jesus fucking Christ, a dream," he whispers, taking me in.
"You've seen me before," I remind him. The outfits I wore during our private sessions didn't cover much more.
"No, I haven't. This? This is for me alone. That was for the world, baby, for your job. Right now, this is mine." I lick my lips, nervous and hot and eager. "Step forward. Come to me," he says, widening his legs and opening his arms, telling me exactly where he wants me to be.
I step until I'm standing there between his legs, and his hands, starting at the back of my knees, move up gently, thumbs brushing under the curve of my ass, then back down. The feeling is hot, my body going up in flames.
But nothing compares to the way heat pools at my core when he leans forward and presses a soft, sweet, almost reverent kiss to my belly right above the line to my panties.
My breathing is heavy, and I force myself to remember how to drag air into my lungs and let it back out.
His hands move up over my ass and graze my back before undoing my bra clasp. Those fingers drag the straps of my bra down until the entire thing falls to the floor.
